The adventure log is where you list the sessions and adventures your party has been on, but for now, we suggest doing a very light “story so far” post. Just give a brief overview of what the party has done up to this point. After each future session, create a new post detailing that night’s adventures.

One final tip: Don’t stress about making your Obsidian Portal campaign look perfect. Instead, just make it work for you and your group. If everyone is having fun, then you’re using Obsidian Portal exactly as it was designed, even if your adventure log isn’t always up to date or your characters don’t all have portrait pictures.

Doragh crosses the town square.; It is one of the few walkways in the city that is actually covered in cobblestone rather than packed dirt, but the recent lack of rain means that even the streets can be crossed without getting covered in mud. The dungeons are located in the basement of the city armory, just the other side of the square from the Lord Mayor’s house.

The door inside the barracks is closed but unlocked. A quick knock and the door actually creaks open a notch.

Doragh waits for ten breaths after knocking, listening for any sound that might indicate someone inside had heard him. When he gets no response, he slips his flail into his off hand and pushes open the door. Standing in the doorway he examines the interior of the room trying to figure out why there would be no guards on duty to keep an eye on the prison.

Doragh finds a small stone room, empty of any people but lined with old tapestries. Their age is evident in the number of tapestries festooned with Essalite imagery-prominent lines of purple, the Imperial Crown and the laurel of the Imperial Senate. There is a large desk with some wooden cabinets above it. Three chairs are sitting haphazardly around the desk. The floor is cut stones fitted like tiles. Three doors exit the room-two on the far wall and third on the wall to Doragh’s left.

Looking around the empty room, Doragh scowls at the lack of even a desk clerk to keep an eye on things. He makes no moves to be subtle, he checks the cabinets first, hoping to find some decent food to take to the prisoners. Then, stepping back around the desk, he moves to the lone door (previously on his left) and proceeds to knock and then after a moment of no response, he will attempt to open it before moving on to the next one.

I will assume to just keep the same rolls throughout this scene, unless you tell me otherwise. I don’t think it’s necessary to keep rolling the same checks over and over unless you call for it. :)

The cabinets contain various goods one might find in a workspace; a few sheets of paper for record-keeping (a rare commodity in Lytindown these days), some dishware and cups, a cloth bag containing what smells like dried fruits and set of keys.

The door is unlocked. When Doragh opens it, he finds a set of stairs heading down. He can hear voices coming up the stairs. What sounds like a laugh comes soon after.

Grabbing the bag of fruits, Doragh carefully shuts the cabinet and stuffs the fruit into his pack. better to have both his hand free for his pick, if he does need it. Since the first door seems to lead him right where he wants to go, Doragh walks down the steps, again making no effort to conceal his approach, but also not attempting to draw any attention to himself either. He watches for the source of the voices, trying catch the gist of the conversation as he closes in upon them.

I am assuming it is just the voices drifting up the stairs and not that the voices are drawing closer as I stand at the top of the steps. If they were coming closer, Doragh would actually just wait for them to come to him.

Yeah, I meant it as the voices were carrying up the stairs, though Doragh may have some difficulty telling that precisely.

The stairs end at a landing with a door across from it. The voices are clearly coming from the other side of the door. They seem to be discussing a game of some kind. Another round of laughter comes after someone shouts “No way, no way, you were bluffing? You didn’t even have the wheel!!”

The oddity of this setup has Doragh teetering between frustration with the guards and bemused confusion. He stands for a minute more outside of the door, listening. Finally, with a shake of his head, he decides the only way to really find out what is going on will be to start talking. So, he moves up to the door and raps on it loudly with the handle of his flail.

No worries. That was how I read it the first time, but sometimes I read too much into things and I realized it could be meant the other way. It was easy enough to jot down the note in case I had gotten the wrong intention from you.

The discussion surrounding the game continues. Once or twice, a ribald joke is made. As soon as the flail hits the wood, however, there is immediate silence. A voice from inside says “Boss? Is that you?”

Another voice says, sharply, “Idiot!! He wouldn’t knock. Who the hell is there?”

“Bounty Hunter, sent by Drophias to speak with the miserable excuses for guards that let Bulstrode escape.” Reaching out, he tries the handle, pushing open the door if it is unlocked. “Any chance you boys are interested in helping me find the information that I need?” Standing in the doorway with his flail held casually in one hand and his other resting easy on his pick, he looks over the men in the room with an impassive stare on his face. His red eye catches the light of the torches giving his stare an eerie quality.

There are five men in the room, all standing around a set of chairs they were presumably sitting at. A small side table sits in the center of the chairs. Scattered playing cards can be seen on the table. The room is low-ceilinged. There are five doors around the room, each made of solid wood held together with bands of metal. Two of the five doors are open.

Two of the men take a step backwards at Doragh’s appearance. Another one raises a dagger and points it at the imposing man, “Hey, I saw you walking through town earlier.”

A fourth man, wearing some sort of insignia on his tabard, speaks up, “These are my men you’re speaking about. Show some respect. What do you want of them?” From the way he gesturing, it’s clear that the men he means are part of the group of card players.

Doragh scowled into the room for a long silent minute. He spent that time considering all the implications of what he had been hearing.

And then he reached into his pack and pulled out the bag of dried fruit and tossed it onto the table as a smile spread across his face. “Then I suppose it won’t be necessary to bring them this after all.” Putting his flail back, Doragh moves over to the table and picks up a few of the cards and examines them as he speaks. “I am Doragh, or Redeye, one of those hired to hunt down Bulstrode. I want to know what I’m facing. I want to hear their tale, their thoughts on the crime scene and how a chained older man managed to best them. Drophias has a strange story, but offers no answers to the questions it leaves. I need those answers.” He sets the cards back down and turns his attention back to the officer who seems in charge.

One of the men who stepped backwards at Doragh’s appearance says, “It wasn’t normal. He Wasn’t normal. You can laugh at me if you want, that man was some kind of witch. As old as he was, he just…”

The man with the insignia puts up his hand to quiet the other man, “Doragh, I’m Bullvye. Have a seat. My men were doing what they were supposed to be doing. They made a mistake trying to recover the escapee themselves rather than raising the alarm, but Sir Drophias already punished them for that. If you came down here to find out what you need to know to be prepared to face this witch, I’ll be okay with you asking questions.”

Nodding to Bullvye, Doragh grabs one of the chairs and spins it around to sit in. He leans his head back and looks at the ceiling as if lost in thought. When he returns his attention to the one who had first spoken he shakes his head. I’m not going to laugh at you. The stars speak of greater powers beyond our understanding. But I suppose it will be best to start at the beginning. Tell me what you encountered when you first arrived at the Weaver’s home, guardsman.

Doragh’s understanding pleases the man, who sits down. Another of the five joins him as well. The others remain standing but listen.

The man who spoke continues, “We didn’t arrest him at his house. He was at the scene. The woman who lived there found him and ran. We were patrolling just a few blocks away. We heard her and ran to get her. She took us back to the house and Bulstrode was still there, eat…” he swallows and stutters, “e-eating the victim. No concern for us. He kind of glanced our way as if we passing on the street. I don’t think we reacted right away-I mean, it was really disgusting. But he just kept on….. Anyway, he sat there while we arrested him. He seemed in a kind of haze. I’ve seen that look before. A priest, one of those Spirit-Born Chanters from across the sea, came through my home town once when I was kid. He would recite this prayer with fast breaths over and over. It sent him into some kind of trance, I think he called it ecstasy. Well, his face looked like Bulstrode’s that day, like he was in some kind of ecstasy.”

“Anyway, we shackled him and led him out. We left the body there until someone could come clean it up, and took the old man to the prison. We got maybe four of five blocks before the change happened. His face went from calm to rage. He threw us both down and ran, ran like a man a third his age. We were stunned. I mean, who expects their grandfather to move like a young warrior all of a sudden. I don’t think we thought about reporting him or raising the alarm, we wanted to get him back, but he lost us in minutes. We should have said something then, but who would believe us? A 69-year old man in chains knocked us down?”

A frown sets into his face as the story comes to a close and Doragh again shifts his focus to some middle point, not seeming to be aware of the other occupants in the room for several minutes. “Witchery indeed, but whose?” He finally seems to return his thoughts to the present. He scans each occupant as he continues, expanding the scope of his questions to include all of those gathered. “Did any of you know Bulstrode personally, or his family? There was talk that he began acting strange after their death. Can any of you elaborate on that?”

“Well then.” Doragh pushes himself back up to his feet. “I must thank you for the assistance you’ve given. I certainly hope that you’ll get through your incarceration without too much difficulty.” He smirks at the whole lot of guards. “If you could do me the one last favor to point me in the direction of the neighbor, I’ll be leaving you to your game.”

Not sure if it would put me into the thread at Bulstrode’s house or not, but Doragh would want to go and visit the neighbor. Particularly since he didn’t hang around long enough at the Mayor’s to find out what the others were doing.

I am curious about what’s behind the other doors at the top of the steps, but I can’t imagine Doragh actually being nosy enough to open them just for curiosities sake. So I’ll just have to leave them be.

Doragh once again thanks the group of guards and wishes them well. Then he heads back to the top of the steps, gives a quick look around the room to see that nothing has changed, and then he heads out the door and down the streets towards Bulstrode’s home. Or more specifically, to the home of his neighbor.

Feel free to stop me if something significant has managed to change in the upstairs room. I’ll just assume that nothing has in order to keep the pace moving along.

I don’t mind rushing things. But Doragh would be as thorough as he can be. He would check with other neighbors to see if any of them could provide the same information or if they could tell him where to find the neighbor. He would probably also check into Bulstrode’s home, since he is there right now. But, neighbors first.

If you need to end the scene quickly, you can just do a quick post of whatever I manage to find and then let me know that the rest of my searches prove fruitless and I’ll head back to the meeting place for the group.

Doragh finds the neighbor at home. He says he has known Bulstrode his whole life, and always known him as a hard-working man who pays his debts. It’s a wonder he outgrew his childhood rages. The neighbor swears he hasn’t seen Bulstrode hurt a small animal since he was a child. Bulstrode and his wife kept to themselves, but that’s what makes good neighbors, isn’t it?

So, 2 things then.
1) What was the weird change in him for the past year since his wife and daughter died?

2) Would Doragh find anything from a quick walk-through of Bulstrode’s home?

I think if I have the answers to those two questions, I’ll be ready to join back up with the group. The quick walk-through would only allow me to see anything unusual that wasn’t carefully hidden. So if there’s something strange that got left out, or if Albrecht had revealed something and left it in the open, then I would notice. But otherwise, he wouldn’t find anything because he wouldn’t be searching or moving things really.

1. After his wife died, he started coming out at odd hours and having visitors over at strange hours. Unseemly behavior for a neighbor. He also stopped taking part in the neighborhood feasts. For years, the houses on the street would pool their leftovers at the end of the week and cook a big meal from it for everyone to share. He stopped attending. Everyone assumed it was out of grief so they left him alone.

1. After his wife died, he started coming out at odd hours and having visitors over at strange hours. Unseemly behavior for a neighbor. He also stopped taking part in the neighborhood feasts. For years, the houses on the street would pool their leftovers at the end of the week and cook a big meal from it for everyone to share. He stopped attending. Everyone assumed it was out of grief so they left him alone.

“Tell me, Drophias, now that many of the others have left, did you send for them? A curious lot, I might say. I find it similarly curious that one such as yourself considers this a matter of utmost importance, and yet entrusts it to a bunch gruff, surly, frankly uncivilized ruffians. At least one other clear-minded chap managed to attend,” he says, motioning to Shieldheart.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name, good sir.”

Turning back to Drophias, he swats away the sneering castellan’s remarks gracefully. “As for talk of contracts, I find that better settled over a fine spread with some good drink, but the mood in here is somewhat sour. Let me assure you that I seek nothing, no recompense but to see justice done. Of course, I am curious as to learn what our liege and his agents decide today’s brand of justice is… Perhaps we should string this Bulstrode along and drag him back to town til his bones are raw? Perhaps you hope to have us simply summarily execute the fugitive when we meet him? Or maybe you hope he will resist violently, and we’ll be forced to cut him down? What say you? Shall we bring him back to town for trial by a jury of his peers, or will you, wise Drophias, arbitrate on this matter?”

“Araerris Shieldheart is my name good sir and like wise nice to meet you.” , after that last yawn, and the intimidating conversation coming from Flavian, he waits to hear a reply before jumping into the conversation. There seemed so many details that the good mayor is leaving out as the others take leave of the room and ruefully seek out answers. Maybe there is something more the mayor is not saying and wishing him to speak of it instead of Drophias, Araerris slivered eyes widen at the tact Del’otho is using.

Drophias doesn’t find much amusement in Flavian’s response, but he does answer, “His head, perhaps pickled in some brine so it can be mounted outside the city, is preferable. Short of that, anything proving the deed is done suffices.” He gives a derisive laugh, “After all, you’re the law in this case, aren’t you? I suppose you can determine sentencing.”

The Lord-Mayor finally speaks, “Araerris, is it? It sounds like your mission is given. For a crime this hazardous, we can offer 500 pieces of gold for evidence of his capture. If you bring him back alive for a hanging, fine, but we don’t require anything but evidence.”

“As long as you and the lord-Mayor are willing to sign to that effect, I am willing to bear the mantle of judgment. We wouldn’t want there to be any confusion should things get heated. Furthermore, if the fugitive does reach Ost, the local lords will certainly want to know that you’ve sanctioned this posse.”

He turns to Araerris, and says, “Do you think the others will be satisfied with that pay? I care not about such things, and based on their behavior, I doubt they’d want me to speak for them. Thus, I would say they’ve appointed you their bargainer.”

“Wait! Wait a minute, I do not agree to the sum of 500 gold pieces upon arrival of evidence of his arrest. I want some of the money up front. Dare I ask Lord Mayor if it’s worth your while to have me search all of Essalim for this man, I need travel expenses paid for. I’ll even pay you 250 gold coins back if our search is effortless or we do not find proof. But hark yon Mayor that payment must be paid to at least me in half.”

Waiting to hear what the lord mayor says, Araerris pauses to look at Flavian. The man had a sharped honey tongue. A showmanship and sign of intelligence. The ranger could agree with a lot of what the noble said. Even if he agreed to disagree, he was sure his fighting was just as lethal as his words, looking to del’Otho, Sheildheart pauses and squints and looks for validation from Flavian. “Are you in agreement brother Flavian?”

“As I said, I care not for the financial side of things. I leave that negotiation to you. But, if my opinion on the matter is solicited… it seems reasonable for you to expect your expenses paid for. After all, this is no ordinary line of business. On the other hand, you must understand the lord-Mayor’s position… he doesn’t know you from Adam. Though I see your trustworthy nature and level head, the lord-Mayor sees someone who might abscond with the sum and not deliver. Quite the financial risk to take, wouldn’t you say?

He looks toward the two officials.

“Since we’re drawing up a contract anyway, might as well put the financial terms in there as well. Perhaps a hundred gold for outfitting up front, to be repaid to the city coffers should the posse’s efforts turn up fruitless. And with my standing, I should be able to offer some collateral. Even if you will not trust us to find this man, I have enough faith to put my reputation up. You know the del’Othos always pay their debts.”

He turns back to the elf and sizes him up. A man who knows reason and a soft touch, Flavian thinks of him; someone like this can do well among the Hilben. The siege has long been lifted, but still some hide behind the walls of their keeps, jealously guarding what little pieces of land or wealth or prestige they or their fathers had gained. The lord-Mayor was one such man, elevated to a position of authority undeservedly, riding on the coattails of his lineage. But, yet, what was he, Flavian, but a man in the shadow of his own family, one whose reputation, for better or for worse, preceded it in Hilben? He looked at Araerris and wondered what his homeland was like, whether it was peaceful or not. Likely it was – they all came to Hilbensal looking for fortune and adventure.

“I think that would settle the matter. Once the matter of funding is settled, Araerris here can secure some supplies for the journey – some mounts and rations for those that do not have them, certainly some rope and manacles as well. I’ll stay here until the contract is settled – no need to wait until the afternoon, I can draw it up in a few minutes.”

With that he pulls some parchment and an inkwell from his pack, and sets to work.

The Lord-Mayor looks at Araerris in shock and anger, “Up front? Up front? What do you think this is? And you want me to believe that you’ll pay me back should the search prove effortless? You, some elf I’ve never seen before!!!”

Drophias steps in, “Let me, please.” Turning to Flavian, he says “If you offer collateral, we can certainly provide you with a modest fee for outfitting. We may even be able to loan you mounts from the city stables, with collateral of course, for the duration of the hunt.”

“Yes, of course. I’m willing to stand for this ragged group for the time being. The del’Othos will put up the collateral.”

As he spoke, Flavian felt the pangs of doubt rise up in his gut. He knew that his family, or what was left of it, would cover the costs of any agreement. But they wouldn’t be happy to do so. And he knew all too well what happened then.

Yet he continued to nod and smile, his expression placid and composed.

Biting his tongue, Araerris stays silent for the time being. Nodding to Flavian in response to the noble placing collateral to the effect of any sum of coin that will make up for travel expenses. Turning to Flavian D’Otho, the ranger is least trusting of this mayor and more trusting of someone of whom he has just met and is willing to risk hard earned currency to do so. “Thank you my friend. But you do not need to do this, I have ways of foraging off the land and would like to complete the task before I’m indebted to the Lord Mayor. If at all possible I would like to apologize, I just wanted something tangible in my hands before leaving. The last bounty I received was quite sometime ago and I live a modest living, so when my expenses run out it’s not because I’m not frugal.”

“No need to think of it that way. The advance you seek is less of a bounty and more of a show of good faith, so that you know you’re not going off on some damned fool crusade. If you should be expected to risk your life stalking a ravenous murderer, should not we all share the burden of risk? You are certainly no more wrong to inquire as they are to balk at your request. I am happy to take on this burden, as the price is small to ensure that justice is done.”

Standing firm as Flavian leans in, the ranger smiles a half crooked smile almost to the point of smug. To some degree, the worth he would risk would be minimal to find the flesh eater. Just the thought of it disgusted him. In fact willing to spittle on this very floor after a thought only, Araerris turns his head back to the Lord Mayor and speaks up as the lout wasn’t even willing to speak for himself only when it took time to talk of his coffers. “I am in agreement then noble born. I do not seek for you to fund us but if your willing to partake in payment then please feel free to do so. If the Lout, I mean Lord Mayor is in agreement then so be it. Word is born.”

Bowing out of showmanship more than respect since this man wanted nothing to do with bargaining with the two, nods and raises slowly up as to not offend the lord mayor. Turning on his heels, Araerris speaks to Flavian. "Do you want to join me outside, I need to talk more of how you say ‘our current situation’. I feel the need to be honest with you. "saying it as silently as the wood elf could muster.

Once out of range of the Manor and outside, Araerris swiftly turns on his heels says, " I do not trust him. Not trusting him in the least leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If it weren’t for the fact that I need food, travel expenses and lodging paid for, I would leave at once. Because my new friend, I feel if he values his servants he would accommodate them as much as he could while still trying to save face. No my dear acquaintance, there is something odd about this situation. Something we must talk to the others about before signing anything." Listening intently, the elf waits to hear Flavian D’ Othoes rebuttal. Which he knew the noble born would set him right.

So, I’m not sure if you missed this, but my intent is to draw up the contract myself. Basically I want to word it such that I have the sole authority in this situation to decide the fate of the guy, whether he lives or dies, and whether he is guilty. Based on the tone of the conversation, I think they agreed to that. I also intend to sign on behalf of the party, or at the least have Araerris do so. Basically I want to leave with a document signed by me and Drophias, and give the others the chance to sign it or not.

Thus, I am not going to leave until the document is finished. It shouldn’t take that long. I think this sets me up pretty well to have most of the party stuck with me if they want to go on this quest.“Excuse me for a moment , gentlemen,” Flavian says to the lord-Mayor and the Castellan, and steps outside with Araerris.

Of course, you should not trust any of them. What have they done to earn your trust? Certainly they know more than they let on. No man simply snaps one day and becomes a cannibal. He was driven to this, driven by something festering. The man supposedly fled, and we are tasked with leaving here and going to look for him. Diverted perhaps? And it certainly seems strange to entrust supposedly such an important task to the lot of us, but then simultaneously offer no material assistance or additional evidence. In fact, the men seemed to be bored by our very presence. It all reeks of a cosmetic attempt to save face. Hire some adventurers to hunt down the man, send them off, and be done with it. They can restore confidence in the townsfolk by pretending to try, while simultaneously doing very little at all themselves. There is either malice or incompetence at play here, Araerris, and I intend to get to the bottom of it."

Flavian looks out over the town briefly, surveying its buildings and people from the mayor’s home. Was this measly dump even worth saving?

“There’s no more good you can do here, friend. We certainly cannot allow them to stall us until evening. Would you find the others and see what they’ve learned? By then I should have the contract in hand and we won’t have to delay setting out after Bulstrode.”

And with that, he turns to go back inside and hammer out the details of the contract.

“Is that it Flavian? Is that is all I look forward to. Tell me oh tell me these lice fester with more honor and valor than this. Is this what has become of Essalim proud D’otho? Is this what I have to look forward to? A meander through cities and towns on the brink of lawlessness and depredation. Oh my, tell me oh tell me yon brave noble that my morality fights for a just cause. Tell me that I fight to secure the nameless streets as I embark on the bitter path to sweet tradition of my kin. Tell me that this injustice should merit my attention despite the reason.”

“I digress young noble. For now I do not see like you. Maybe one day I shall. You are but a light in these dark times young Flavian. A true human, young and naïve much like others of your kind. For I have seen enough blood shed to disparage even the most pure of heart. I wonder why I still try but to hear these words from you, then maybe I am but jaded among others who prove their worth of a daily matter. When the time is right, I shall ask you more of your wisdom. For it’s something I care to listen to. Maybe there will come a time when the land of Hilben shall once again be a proud herald of valor, honesty, kindness and honor.”

“Yes my friend, consult with the others is exactly what I shall do. When your ready however. I’m not leaving you to the whims and machinations of this man. I shall wait outside while you finalize the contract. However I would include only you and I. It seems in their bitter attempt to hasten through the town searching for evidence. I would only garner to them that we made an agreement for the two of us. If they wish to bargain with the Lord Mayor. At least tell them he is a cheap lot to say the least. Maybe we can use our idea as leverage for any information they have.”

“Certainly. The contract will be drawn and signed by us; if the others wish not to sign, that is their prerogative. But we must ensure that order is maintained. If we are charged, officially and contractually, with finding this man, we can brook no interference.

And, friend, my hands may be soft, but I can handle myself. This is not the first difficult situation I have encountered. But, if you wish to stand as a sentinel, I am grateful. I shall make this brief."